Mystery Worshipper: Eirene.The church: The Annunciation to the Mother of God, Utrecht, Netherlands.Denomination: Greek Orthodox.The building: An unobtrusive1920s town house, only recognisable as
a church from the outside by the copper plate (in Greek and mediocre Dutch)
next to the front door. This building used to be a sports hall before it became
a church. Inside, the interior has been completely stripped and done up
as a proper Greek church. Splendid murals in neo-Byzantine style, painted
in 1997, depict most (but not all, for lack of space) of the 12 great
feasts of the church. Above the altar there's an older mural, painted on
cloth and pasted on the wall, of God the Father (usually unheard of in Orthodox
iconography) hovering toward the congregation flanked by angels. This caused
my daughter to exclaim, "He's flying! That's silly!"The church: Many of the parishioners were women in their 50s
and 60s, the right age to be wives or widows of the first group of Greek
migrant workers in the Netherlands, but all ages were represented from newly
baptised babies to octogenarians. Apart from the handful of guests from
parishes whose priests were on summer holiday, every single person in the
congregation was Greek by birth or marriage. Completely different from my
very mixed home parish.The neighbourhood: The church is on a street that's recently become
fashionable again with students and other people of a slightly alternative
lifestyle. It has several curio shops (some even open on a Sunday), small
stylish restaurants, and lots of cats sitting on window-sills wanting to
be petted. It's technically in the town centre, but very quiet and out of
the way of the main shopping precinct.The cast: Father Grigorios, a choir of three men, an elderly lay
reader in grey suit and tie, who also carried the censer at processions,
and an altar boy aged about nine wearing a red sticharion (alb) that showed
at least four inches of jeans and a pair of sports shoes. Someone told me
that short is the Greek fashion, although you'd never guess it by looking
at the boy's sleeves.

What was the name of the service?
Matins and holy liturgy. There was
also a short commemoration service for someone's deceased relative before
the final blessing.

How full was the building?
Empty, except for the priest, the
choir, two 30-ish women, and us at the beginning of matins; completely
full during the liturgy. The church can seat about 60 and comfortably
hold about 100. Every seat was taken, and there were a few dozen people
standing at the back. The families with children mostly arrived either just
before or during the first 10 minutes of the liturgy.

Did anyone welcome you personally?
We were a few minutes late, because the first
train doesn't go any earlier, but some of the
elderly women who came in after us nodded and
smiled.

Was your pew comfortable?
Wide but shallow, too hard, too straight,
with a ridge on the front of the seat that started to hurt after only a
few psalms. Standing was much more comfortable physically, but I felt awkward
standing when most people were sitting, and it was also uncomfortable to
have a fixed place instead of sharing a large expanse with the whole community.
If we'd thought of it, or if we'd been really late, we could have stood
at the back instead of sitting in the pews.

How would you describe the pre-service
atmosphere?
Very quiet. Even though the service
had already started, people were trickling in all the time and greeted each
other silently.

What were the exact opening words of the
service?
We were too late to catch it, but it must have
been, "Blessed is our God, both now and ever and
unto the ages of ages," in Greek.

What books did the congregation use during the
service?
The congregation used no books whatsoever.
The choir had a lectern full of service books, which I couldn't get a peek
at after the service because they took them away when they left the choir
area. The priest, apart from his own service books, had two different Gospel
books, one with pretty medallions that he read from during matins and put
on the lectern at the back of the church for people to venerate, and one
in a silver cover that he read from during the liturgy.

What musical instruments were played?
Male voices only. I've noticed that
every Greek church I've been to has one adequate singer, one excellent singer,
and one no-good singer, and this one was no exception. The adequate singer
(a pleasant but rather nasal tenor) and the excellent singer (a strong baritone
who appeared to sing effortlessly but with conviction) took part in matins.
At the beginning of the liturgy, the excellent singer beckoned for a third
man to join the choir. He turned out to be a bass who couldn't sing in tune,
producing an irregular burr that grated and distracted from the otherwise
heavenly singing.

Did anything distract you?
During matins, two women and a man
set out a little table at the front of the church and spent a lot of time
putting exactly the right cloth on it, placing a framed photograph, fussing
with the flowers and candles and food, and then coming back and doing it
all over again. I assumed (correctly as it turned out) that this was for
the commemoration service. Also, a little girl across the aisle waved her
coat about, and when her grandmother took it away she waved her pacifier
(which she was much too old for). When the grandmother took the pacifier
away as well, she resorted to wailing and thrashing about and had to be
taken away bodily. We later saw her being plied with sweets.

Was the worship stiff-upper-lip, happy clappy, or
what?
A mixture of matter-of-factness and high
devotion. People were very attentive and clearly
comfortable. There was a growing sense of
holiness and community all through the service.

Exactly how long was the sermon?
5 minutes.

On a scale of 1-10, how good was the preacher?
8  I understood only about
half of the words of the sermon. It was in Greek and Father Grigorios spoke
very fast, but I picked up well on his body language, tone of voice and
facial expression.

In a nutshell, what was the sermon
about?
Father preached on the Gospel of
the day, which was the parable of the rich young man. We might of course
attain the kingdom of heaven by being radical and joining a monastery, but
that's not right for everyone. The church has other ways by which one can
attain the kingdom of heaven, such as the sacraments.

Which part of the service was like being in
heaven?
The growing sense of holiness during the
service, helped by the right amount of smells
and bells and the splendid murals.

And which part was like being in... er... the other place?
The bass who couldn't sing in tune. As a
connoisseur of basses, I realise that there's
often nothing to be done about it, but why
invite him to sing if he can't?

What happened when you hung around after the service looking lost?
We didn't get the chance to look lost, because we
were spotted by acquaintances who had also come
to this church by chance. As we were talking to
them, people from the congregation didn't seem
to find it necessary to talk to us. I'd have
liked to, but it looked like a community where
everybody knows each other and I didn't want to
barge in on any conversation.

How would you describe the after-service
coffee?
No after-service coffee, but we got
great handfuls of bread from the priest and honeyed grains in foil cups
from the commemoration people. There's simply nowhere in the building to
have after-service refreshments; all the available space is taken up by
the church proper, with a little annexe for the office and WC. A lot of people
stood around and talked outside after the service.

How would you feel about making this church your regular (where 10 = ecstatic, 0 = terminal)?
6  I could get used to the
Greek, but the parish gave every indication of being a very closely-knit
ethnic community that I'd always remain a guest in. Also, I'd hate not to
be able to be in the choir. If I lived in Utrecht I'd probably go to Amersfoort,
12 minutes away by train, where there is a Dutch-speaking parish in
the same diocese.

Did the service make you feel glad to be a
Christian?
Absolutely.

What one thing will you remember about all this in seven days' time?
The illusion of being in Greece  so much so, that being addressed in Dutch by a stranger at the end of the
service gave me a bit of culture shock.

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